


When You Left

by Ieavethecity



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, It’s just sort of a story about how Max is handling Billy’s death, Post Season 3, This is very platonic- so don’t worry about it being gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ieavethecity/pseuds/Ieavethecity
Summary: Max tries writing to ease her mind some.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	When You Left

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly can't say why I decided to write this story haha. I just really feel for Max I guess. anyway, thanks for clicking on this story :) I hope you enjoy it & have yourself a lovely day!

Max should have expected it to end like this. Deep in the back of her mind, she always knew something like this would happen. She always knew she would lose someone like Billy someday. 

That didn't make it hurt any less, though, when she saw her brother be impaled through the chest by a fucking  _ monster _ . 

It still stung. Maybe it hurt even more because she never got a true chance to say goodbye, nor did she ever get a chance to try and right things with him. It was so completely and utterly unfair.

Billy was a piece of shit, Max knew that incredibly well. But she also knew he was hurting. He reminded her of a kicked dog- always on the defense, always baring teeth... but the truth was, he just needed someone to care for him. 

Max thinks about him late at night. Thinks how she may have been able to help him. Should've, could've, would've. 

Perhaps what makes it worse is the way Neil and her Mother act. They almost ignore the fact Billy is dead. 

Neil numbs himself with vodka and cigarettes, and Susan gossips to her friends.

_ "I hate to say it, but a boy like Billy wouldn't have gotten very far anyway." _

Susan didn't see the look of horror on her daughter's face when she said that- and even if she had, it wouldn't have made a difference. Susan only wanted to believe what she would allow herself to believe. It was easier that way. 

Max heard writing helps with processing, and so she tried it. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she glared down at the piece of paper clipped to a clipboard on her bed. 

What was she supposed to say? How is this going to make her feel any better? No one else is going to see this, so does that even matter?

She starts the first sentence simply enough. A slightly shaky hand picks up the pencil at her side and she puts the clipboard on her lap. 

_ I just wanted things to be different.  _

What she particularly wanted to be different, she couldn't say. But she did need something to change. 

_ It's November now, and I'm still not used to not having you around.  _

_ You know, Billy, you were a real asshole. Things could have been better. They didn't have to end- _

She marks out the last sentence. Blaming a dead man (... _ boy?) _ felt wrong. Max bit her bottom lip as she looked down at the paper. She drew her index finger through the line she'd made, smudging the pencils lead until the pad of her finger was a dark metallic-like grey.

_ I miss you. And I don't know why I do, because you were so mean, but I somehow do. I miss your stupid music and _

She stopped for a moment. Why did she miss him? He tormented her. He bullied her. He seemingly hated her... And yet Max would consider giving everything just so she could have a conversation with him; just so she could have some of her questions answered. 

Instead of adding to why she missed him, she started a new sentence. 

_ Neil somehow got worse. That was one of the good things about having you around, I guess. Even if you didn't intend to, you kept Mom and I safe from him. But now you're gone and Neil acts as though that's all my fault.  _

Max felt her stomach sink. She felt tears prick her eyes, and so she shut them tightly. Was it her fault? She lets out a sharp breath. She isn't going to stop- not yet. 

_ Neil doesn't let me leave the house anymore, which I'm kind of okay with. People still stare and whisper, and occasionally give their condolences. I still have yet to figure out a reply to "I'm so sorry your brother died in that mall fire." other than "Thanks.". What are you even supposed to say when someone else says that? _

_ Lucas has tried to come over a few times just to visit, but he can't even get through the door. Neil doesn't let him in for all the wrong reasons, but a part of me is almost thankful for it. I know I wouldn't be able to face seeing Lucas... or anyone else, really. I'm not strong enough to do that. It's easier to just ignore them. _

Max stopped yet again. Even though she saw Mike, Dustin, and Lucas on a regular basis in school, the four of them didn't really talk. Sure, they sat together during lunch, but that was just because Max cringed at the thought of eating completely alone. She already had constant eyes on her. She didn't need to be any more visible.

Max skimmed through the paper, seeing how jumpy it was. She had to admit, though. She felt somewhat better. Clearer, even. Like the forest after a heavy, much needed rain. 

Still, though, there was much to be tackled. Max is only reminded of that fact as she glances down to a friendship bracelet given to her by Eleven before she and the Byers moved to Ohio.

_ I wish El was here. Maybe she would stop me from doing stupid things, or at least make me feel a bit less alone. She lost someone too.  _

Max realized then that she'd never truly lost someone close to her. Yeah, grandparents have died and childhood friends have moved, but never has she experienced this sort of shock to her system. On top of it all, it's not like there's a handbook for people with recently deceased siblings. She'd have to figure out how to get through this on her own. 

_ I don't want to feel like this anymore. I feel sick. I know I shouldn't miss you because you were terrible. But somehow, I do. What's wrong with me? _

She paused yet again, dragging groves with her nail on the pencil she held. She hasn't told anyone, but sometimes she visits Billy's room. 

The first time she did it, it was a month after his passing. It was also just after school, so the house was going to be empty for the next hour until her mom came home. And the first time she did it, she could hardly get the door open. 

She felt like she'd hear Billy yell at her to get out in annoyance. Or maybe the door would slam shut.

But neither of those things happened. When she opened the door, it slowly squeaked open, revealing an empty room. The silence in that room was worse than anything Billy could have possibly said to her.

It was the smell that first got to her. It smelled like Billy. Of cigarettes, sandalwood, and just  _ him.  _

Max didn't stick around too long after that. She simply couldn't. And so she retreated back to her room, slamming the door as though a closed door would stop the icky feelings from following her; from continuously buzzing around her mind until she felt sick. 

_ Why is this so hard? I should hate you, Billy. You and your dad. But maybe I should hate your dad more, considering he made you what you are... were.  _

Max's gaze fell to the floor below. She felt like she wanted to cry, but the tears just wouldn't come. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes glancing over to her nightstand. In that drawer, just an arm's reach away sat some of Billy's stuff. The first time she'd visited his room certainly wasn't the last- but it wasn't very often she took stuff from it, mostly because she felt like she was stealing from a dead man. 

So far, she'd gathered nothing all that special. A silver lighter, a half-drunk bottle of vodka, and one of his earrings. 

She'd even found a joint, but she decided to leave it in the drawer she found it in. Still, she sometimes wondered if some of the things she'd gathered would make her feel better. More specifically, the vodka she'd found. 

She'd twisted the cap off and smelled it once, cringing the gross odor. She had no real want to try it after that. Still, though, she remembered how happy a drunk Billy could be, stumbling through the hallway as quietly as possible. Only when he was drunk or stoned did she really see him smile. It gave her the impression alcohol or weed gave people a reason to smile. 

_ I wish I knew your mom. I found a picture of you with her, and she looked lovely. She looked kind. I thought after your death, I might meet her while at a funeral, but that didn't happen. I don't even think Neil told her what happened.  _

_ I just can't stop thinking about how differently things could have gone, but then I feel like I'm blaming other people for your death. Was your dying as inevitable as my mom thinks it is...? _

Max still felt ill. Better, but still ill. She couldn't tell you how many times she'd heard 'Things will get better with time.' these past few months, but was it really even true? Because when Billy first died, Max felt nothing. Completely numb to whatever she should be feeling. But now, she's worse off. 

There's an ache in her chest. Sadness, she'd assume. But what worsens it is the pinch of loneliness that gnaws at her late in the evening; when the moon is high and the air is chilling. 

Setting the pencil down at her side, Max began folding the letter she'd written as tightly as she could. Then, standing from her bed, she walked to her dresser. 

Opening a drawer, she grabbed a pair of socks, stuffing the note inside. She would seriously rather die than have her mom or Neil find the letter. Just the thought of what they'd say if they ever saw that stream of consciousness written out on her paper made her stomach flip. 

And so she hid the pair of socks in the back of the drawer, sighing softly as she did so. 

Yes, things were bad, and yes, she knew they could get worse. Things could always get worse. Maybe that was all there was to life. The quality of one's being, mind, and soul gradually worsening until there's nothing left. 

Or maybe that was overly nihilistic. Maybe there was a point, a meaning, a purpose. 

Max supposed, then, she'd just have to find what exactly her purpose is. Maybe then, she can create some real meaning. 

**Author's Note:**

> i was considering making this into something more of a story, but i think (for the time being), ill just be keeping it as-is. feel free to give me your thoughts and criticisms! they're always incredibly appreciated :) also, i hope you have a lovely day <3


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